RunsCape
by Tiger-ES
Summary: Struggle and strife are this lone noob's companion as he tries to make it on his own. He walks Varrock looking for compassion, but finds himself a target for scammers. A dark, lifelike tale within the vast universe of Runescape.
1. Chapter 1

This story will greatly differ from the Runescape game, in that I will make it truer to life than to describe skills and levels specifically and to a game's standards and I will be making larger the vast city of Varrock, where this story will be taking place. The story will be reminiscent of the game, as it is inspired by it. But it will not be explicitly in game format. Furthermore, I will not be taking requests to add any character to the story, read on and I'm sure you'll agree that I shouldn't. 

I've heard Runescape reviewers like to name-call (the author) and, though I like tough reviews, I find name-calling entirely inappropriate conduct.

For all of you that have read my other story, Altered Soul, I just would like to say that it feels great to have people that follow my work. But a bit of warning, this piece will be nothing reminiscent of the last.

Damn Jagex for implying that only members have words worth listening to. Oh, yeah, but it's not like I own this stuff so… don't sue me, Jagex.

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The boy ran though the blackness of the night, the rain pounding beneath his feet. That night he had been foolish… There was no undoing it. He rushed through Varrock's darkened slums, hoping to catch a glimpse of light living within at least one window. The city was _so_ dark that night… but still he ran. Surely someone would take him in, he thought, after all, he was just but a boy.

He halted at an intersection, bowing beneath the rain's relentless fury. Down the cobbled roads he then gazed, seeing 3 additional paths to choose from. They might as well have been the same; all of them were darkened and useless. A hot white light lit the area suddenly, making the teenager turn skyward, the rain moistening his face once again. Then a booming! God's scream! It was so terrifyingly loud, he all but fell over, ducking his head into the safety of his shoulders and reaching for the ground. Then all was quieted again to that dull, rapid thud the heavy rain emitted…

The teen was not the only one astounded by this explosion. In the distance, barely audible, a commotion. Women squealing, wound up with excitement due to the great sound of it. The boy quickly bounded to their wondrous shrieks thinking they might've disappeared in his delay. The rain pelted the boy thoroughly, but nothing would slow him. He had had his fill of the rain.

Sure enough, a light emanated from a single window, several obscure figures swirling about it. Like specters they were, through that murky yellow glass, and he was contented to look upon them. A naive grin made its way across his face as the juvenile rapped on their door. The motion within came to a halt, as they were unprepared for any callers at this late hour. The outsider slicked back the soggy mess of black hair from his eyes, making himself more presentable.

The door swung open and the boy was hit with the pleasures of the different perfumes of the ladies and the wonderful warmth of a burning fire (most enticing on this cold, wet night). The man who then crowded the door, however, wasn't reminiscent of any of these things. The whisper of hair on his head floated downward as he bent down to meet the outsider with his cold, scrutinizing eyes that obviously craved the boy's non-existence. "…What's yer business, 'en?" he inquired, closing all but a few inches between their faces.

Slowly, the boy's neck inched backwards, cowardly in the man's enormous shadow. He glanced down the cobblestone road, strife with puddles, but only for a moment. "(I _must_ seek shelter,)" he told himself. "Hello…" he feigned a smile despite the man's monstrously intrusive face and… breath. "My name is—" a deafening thunderclap cut off his shrunken voice, stirring the ladies within who were all huddled together. Then he bellowed out, "I am in need of shelter, I'm afraid. May you—"

"Have ya any munnies, 'en?" The glutton jumped on this opportunity.

"No. You see—"

"Then ya best be makin' s'm!" He pulled back into the comforts of his house. "We'll be havin' no beggars here, boy."

"(Make some?)" he asked himself as he felt the loneliness of the empty Varrock roads. He was trying to find some comfort in the man's impatience when there was none. The proprietor began to close the door then, and as the chink of light flattened out, the boy mustered up enough nerve to finally invoke firmly, "I shall! Just please, sir, let me in on this night!"

The door slammed shut his face, the waft of warm air easily overpowered by the biting cold. He looked down somberly, letting the drops flow off the end of his nose, for a moment or two, watching them splat onto the ground between his feet. "(These shoes may not survive the night…)"

Unexpectedly, the door opened slightly, just enough for a chubby face to poke through. The juvenile quickly looked into the hardened eyes of the man. He brought a meaty hand around the front of the door. "That way's the pub. I'm sure they'll be open this night. They usually stay open every night, all night."

"Thank you, sir!" he shouted gratefully, skipping in the direction of the stranger's hand.

He nodded, adding, "3 blocks! Tu yer left it'll be!"

"(The pub…)" he quietly sneered to himself. He had visited his own town's pub and quite enjoyed it, but to sleep in such a place? "(God save me!)" He trudged, now, making his way 3 blocks down, wondering if that damnable man could even count.

Sure enough, after 3 blocks the rambunctious crowd within the bar could be heard. The teen turned to his left, seeing the solitary light amongst the darkness… He stood there as the rain pecked at his head. "(I guess I don't have a choice…)" he reflected and went grudgingly towards the pub. The rolling thunder sent him scurrying.

Into the pub he clumsily bounded after the door had finally given way. No one seemed to notice his awkward entrance, though. They were each of them congregated around a rowdy fellow, drinking his every word.

"So there I was…" he said quietly, drawing in the attention of his mates. He eloquently extended his arm, despite the heavy armor, using his words to paint the panorama. "in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing… all my comrades lost somewhere behind me. The morning mist choking up the vista… I removed my helm in my blindness and left it somewhere on those grounds. I squinted—trying to see, but all I could see was white… I swore that I had gone blind."

The boy quietly edged toward the solidarity of the shadows, but was spellbound by the warrior's tale, which found him, like the others, rapt around the parameter of his supple voice.

He paused briefly, but not for dramatics. His austere eyes looked over the newcomer before they again shifted about the room giving the illusion that he were speaking to each of them personally. "The only sense I had left was truer to me than ever before. As clear as a bell, I heard it… It crunched through the foliage before me, plodding toward me at a quickening pace! What it was, I had no idea! All I knew was that it—whatever it was, rushed toward me!"

"How did it know you where there!" a shout issued from the crowd.

"Persons of the Dark Knight Fortress are worshipers of Zamorak, the daemon! It is said he provides them with unnatural ability…" he pushed himself back against the bar behind him, his armor gently scrapping against its self at the joints. Then he lunged back into his story. "He brought his heavy black sword up! and I gripped that pitiful bronze square, my knuckles burning hot white on the battle axe down at my right! He landed that heavy ol' sword and it just slid off this fateful square," he taped the shoddy shield that leaned against his barstool. "And there! _there_ was my chance! Time slowed, coming close to a halt as I focused all my strength into getting that battle-axe off the ground…" The romantic dropped his hand to his right and milled it over his head. "And with great force, my axe did fall…"

He was quieted for a few moments, and a few moments longer than his audience could stand. "Then what?"

He smiled, glad that they were enjoying his feast of words, but he would not give them more, no. Instead he scooped up the black helm and flipped it cleverly onto his head. The throng laughed heartily and gingerly applauded.

The boy looked over the armor-clad knight, losing himself into the blackness of it. He was vanished to a sea of questions. "(I've come to expect that the goings about in the city are to be different than what I am accustomed to, but… He is commemorated for slaying a man and appropriating his armor? Is this right…? His story is well told, but what he is telling is—)"

"Yur looking like yur in some kinda trace, boy."

He turned to look at the haggard man and was revolted by his appearance, not that he would show it.

The drunkard turned back to the orator who was steadily declining requests to retell the story. "That armor… Woo-wee! You best keep yur eye offa that kinda armor, boy, hic! 'cause that stuff's too 'spensive for a country bumkin like you. Why, in all my life… I ne'er saw armor so fine, lemme tell ya." He sluggishly threw a glace over to the boy and discovered him gone. "…Boy? Boy? N' whur'd he go?"

While the wretch was busy chattering, the boy had quietly slipped away. "(Even the taverns here are different.)" he thought wearily as he slinked down against the back wall. He contemplated whether or not he could rise above these challenges or if they would consume him. Could he survive this place? He assured himself that things would look different at the dawn of a new day, then he was finally was able to subdue his dogged mind.


	2. Chapter 2

This chaptyr will be somewhat longer than the first, but we will finally be past the introduction and reading into the meatier parts of the story. I hope you all are enjoying this, thus far.

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The night wrapped the boy in its chilly embrace causing shivers to wrack his body and the drunkards threatened his slumber with their disorder. All the same, he remained in his entrancing stupor until first light… Well, first light for him, that is. Through the above window the sun's intense beams fell upon his closed lids. He protested and rolled away, still half asleep, but an aching hunger found him standing. Even at this early hour, the sponges were fixed around the bar. The teen stretched a bit, finding his parts somewhat stiffened. He then moved toward the door, his mind taken by hunger.

Unexpectedly, an off-colored fellow gripped his arm as he was leaving. The bizarre old man was slumped over to such a degree that a shadow was strewn about his face, fading out his features while accentuating his gleaming eyes. He ran the vein riddled fingers of his other hand through the length of his hoary, unkempt hair whispering, "Boy… how would you like to make a nickel or two?" he inquired as he studied the outline of the juvenile's inviting lips. The free hand then charmingly stroked the detained one. "So soft…"

The boy ripped away his hand, his eyes wide with alarm. He swiftly backed away without losing sight of those gleaming eyes, clumsily colliding with the wall on his way out. As he scurried away from the pub, a laughter resounded from behind him.

This rude awakening sent him running down the roads narrowed all the way to the market he had occasioned just the day before. He stooped over, clutching his knees as he struggled for breath. He felt as if he could collapse at any given moment, but his intense hunger lent him energy enough to explore the enticing odors that now bombarded his senses.

The market, a regular bazaar, he thought. Fish and potatoes sold on the same street as clothes and fine furs! People choked the avenue all lugging their wide assortments of goodies. "(They must be rich!)" he thought to himself.

As he walked down the length of the street (an arm over his stomach tormented by a sharp pain), he eyed the various prices. If he were to beg, he would not ask for much. Soon enough, he came across merchant that bellowed, "Get your fresh tomatoes, right here! Fresh tomatoes! Just 1 coin each!"

He wearily browsed the stand covered in the slender and ruby plum tomatoes. Then, looking desperately into the merchant's eyes, he pleaded, "Please sir! May you spare just but 1 tomato, for I am starved, and haven't—"

The merchant's bushy eyebrows sunk low, his rounded facial features all too quickly turned from inviting to contemptuous. He had many an offal word at the edge of his thought, but a handsome young gentleman, that came from nowhere, spoke in his place. "Haven't any money? So you would have him starve instead of you?" He stepped closer to him, then peering down upon his youthful features. "Everything in this place is exchanged equivalently. If you cannot understand that, bumpkin, go back were you came from."

The businessman nodded his head in agreement, affirming the former's words.

Those harsh eyes remained steadily fix on the boy's own eyes, and the boy forced himself to withstand their fire, staring back up into them, allured. Just when he thought he could bear the grapple no longer, the young man spun and skillfully boarded a passing wagon, seating himself at the very edge where his legs hung freely. "See ya!" he shouted as he shrunk into the distance. "And I thank you for the tomatoes, old chap!" he waved a hand in which cleverly held 3 tomatoes between its digits. "Farewell," he thoroughly laughed as the cart jostled him about.

"Thief!" the merchant spat, shaking an angry fist.

The boy was enflamed and started off after the wagon. Upon his boarding, he threw a punch at the would-be villain, but the blow was blocked and the boy was easily subdued. So there he lay in the cart, his breast heaving relentlessly, his better holding his position on top of him. "So what's your game, then?" he inquired, coolly.

He struggled beneath the brawny gentleman, sputtering, "You're a thief!"

"So?" was his aloof response. "What business have you with me? I've brought no harm to you, have I?"

"You come from the same line as those who've scammed me!" Finally the subjugator's face exhibited some feeling, and he relaxed his hold on the captive. The boy continued his lamentation, his chest rising irregularly, "We exchanged purses. In mine, everything! In his, nothing…" A single tear rolled over the side of his face causing the young man to relinquish his hold entirely, as he turned away to stare down at the passing ground. The boy sniffled as he pushed himself up.

"Don't cry…" There was a brief pause before he spoke again. "Here," he whispered bumping his arm into the boy's shoulder, "eat this. It'll make you feel better."

The youngster took hold of the item that laid in his companion's warm hand, brining it around to his view. A bright red, slender tomato. For an instant he stared at it, contemplating whether or not to accept his offer, but he soon found the length of it in his mouth.

"What's your name, then, boy?"

"My name," he paused, pushing aside the juicy tomato with his tongue, forming a humorous lump in his cheek, "is Stephen. What's yours?"

"Lestat."

There was a brief silence before Lestat began a lively chat with the driver. Stephen merrily chomped at the tomato as he listened to the two chatter. Lestat may have been a thief, a lowly line of work, Stephen thought, but he was quite an agreeable fellow. The rough cobblestone road ended with a harsh thump, then it was the country roads that jostled them about.

The teen stretched the life of the tomato, leisurely taking the tiniest of bites, but he could not make it last forever. When it was finished, he turned to Lestat with a question on his lips. "It's strange, what you said about equivalency… You spoke so feverishly of it that I thought you might have believed it, but then you stoled… Do you think it true?"

Lestat threw an incredulous look at the boy, responding smugly, "About your taking a single tomato entreating hunger on that man?" Lestat paused, to studying the boy's face, measuring the sincerity of the inquiry. Upon discovering Stephen's seriousness, he laughingly replied, "Do you honestly think that fat man _could_ starve!"

Stephen grinned and confirmed, "It would probably take him until the Duke Horatio presided over Runescape!" Then Lestat's shoulders began to tremble, and he swiftly lost all bearing, crashing down with an uproarious laughter. Stephen looked on the laughing hyena and smiled as his focus went to his dangling feet. It seemed as if the whole countryside were quaking with laughter. Stephen managed a little laugh himself.

"Stephen," he merrily called, propping himself onto his elbows. "how would you like join my gang? I'll teach you the _real_ rules of the world."

Immediately, he dismissed the offer. "You mean to steal from others? No, I cannot do that."

Lestat's brow wrinkled, the smile on his face erased from existence. His lip curled as he pushed himself upright. "You forget about this ride. It is not you that pays for it."

The adolescent was dumbstruck at the sudden change in atmosphere. His eyes drifted aimlessly over Lestat then to the passing countryside.

Lestat looked upon the boy, the slightest of smirks coming on. "…Your 'ethical high ground' will gain you nothing," he sneered. An uncomfortable silence reigned for a few moments. Stephen, left to his thoughts, Lestat, to his guilt. The latter reached into his pocket and producing another fruit, handing it to the former.

Stephen looked at the food, finally seeing what it really was, "(A pact with the devil…)"

In an effort to reason with the boy, he said, "It is the law of equivalency that would have you starve to death."

Stephen stuffed the tomato into his pocket.

Lestat sighed.

Soon enough, the pair were at their destination, Varrock clearly visible on the horizon at about 8 miles away. Together they pushed themselves off the moving wagon.

Lestat tossed the remaining tomato, which was expertly caught by the driver. "A tomato?" he questioned, his back turned away from the road ahead.

"A tomato!" Lestat shouted to the driver as he steadily clamored down the road.

"Just 1!"

"The boy!" he pointed with not only one, but two accusing fingers as he smiled. "He ate the rest of your share!"

"Eh… alright!"

Lestat laughed as lumbered over to the small farming house, just a mile from the side of the road. The thought had occurred to Stephen to pitch his own tomato to the driver and absolve himself of any debt, but by that time the driver was far beyond his delivery, or the delivery of a nice tomato for that matter. Only when Lestat grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, did he realize he was lingering.

Like fugitives they did slink through the shrubbery, never staying long within the farmhouse window's field of vision. They made their way to a small shack of sorts, kneeling along its edge. A dagger was drawn from Lestat's side, the sight of it sent Stephen alarmed with fright. "What are you doing with that!" he vehemently whispered.

"_Shh! _…Now, you wait here."

Before Stephen could protest any action, Lestat already took to the other side. Stephen looked down as he waited. A voice grew inside himself. His heart was pounding, though nothing was going through his mind. To Stephen's surprise, the boards of the shack above him opened, causing him to fall backwards. Within the darkness, Lestat could be seen holding up the planks. He said with a tinge of disdain at the jittery teenager, "…Come on."

Stephen crawled in through the opening and landed with a thud, stirring up many a cluck. "Chickens?"

Lestat gripped the dagger tightly, his knuckles burning white, and he commenced killing the chickens. The birds ran amok, creating more noise than Lestat had accounted for. "Damn," he cursed under his breath. Then he looked to Stephen somewhere locked within the shadows. "What are you waiting for?" he asked. "Kill them! The faster it is done, the less noise they will make."

Stephen stared blankly at his mentor. "(I have no weapon…)" He flashed a pair of empty palms at Lestat. "(Surely, he wouldn't ask me to—)"

"What? Use your hands! Choke them!" On his lips spread a smile that turned into a laugh as he spoke. "'Choke the chicken!' Uhahah!" The deranged birds shuffled about the darkened shack, their feathers fluttering about Lestat gracefully.

Stephen gawked at the man just a moment more before adhering to his demands. He grabbed hold of chicken and began his dirty work. He managed to grapple a chicken from behind, but instead of utterly suffocating it, he broke its neck, feeling life violently departing from its body. It was nauseating work to kill with ones hands, Stephen thought, quickly grabbing for another.

Just as he had seized the next, a blinding light poured into the cabin. The silhouetted figure within the entryway purposefully clutching his rake as he demanded, "Whut in tarnation do ya think yu d'in' in hee, boi?" apparently only catching sight of Stephen crouching within the light. Where was Lestat?

The chicken flew airily from the teen's brutal hands as Lestat rounded the corner to meet the farmer. The farmer gasped frightfully at Lestat's swift movement. Lestat's arm again moved violently against the man. The rancher's hand clamped dearly onto the young man's shoulder, Lestat pushed him off. The yeoman fell to the dirt with a sickening thud. "What did you do!" Stephen cried.

"Grab the chickens!" he ordered.

Stephen franticly grabbed up several of the dead chickens as Lestat stood there over the fallen man. "What did you do?" he asked hopping to his feet, running to his companion's side. The boy looked over the man, listening to his tapered breathing.

Lestat pecked at the coins that had rolled out of his pocket, hungrily reaching in for more.

"What did you do?" he asked a third time, reluctant to believe the turn of events.

Lestat grew enraged, bellowing, "What _I_ did! We're in this together! You were steeling chickens, same as me!" Lestat took off running toward the road. "Come on!" he commanded, and 'come' Stephen did.

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Alrighty. There we have 2 chaptyrs. I hope that you've enjoyed the read thus far and will continue to read when I update.

I predict this will take a while (seeing as writing 2 chaptyrs took quite a long time) and suggest that you add me to 'story alert' as displayed in the left hand corner. What story alert does is it sends you an e-mail telling you that -shuchandsuch- story has a new chaptyr.

If you do not have an e-mail address, just go to and set up a free account. It's very easy and requires no personal information. Oh, and… I don't own yahoo ;).

Take care, I'll be getting back to this story soon!

Tiger-ES


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